Two Goodbyes
by thisisironic
Summary: There was no later for them. PeterClaire. AU Future!Fic.


**Title:**_Two Goodbyes_  
**Author:** Emilie  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, and my empty pockets are proof of no profit.  
**Characters:** Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet  
**Word Count:** 3,444  
**Summary:** There was no later for them.  
**Author's Notes:** An alternate 'five years later' future; Nathan's dead but there's still some asshole President who decides the heroes are dangerous.

Big thanks to CJ for looking this over!

---

She reads a magazine through the cerulean aviator shades. The bright sun piercing through the clouds allows her to look nothing more than ordinary. People pass by, going through the motions of their own lives, hardly throwing a glance her way--a couple of guys (and a girl or two) peek down the front of her shirt, maybe. She doesn't attract any more attention than the next girl sitting at a table outside the local Starbucks reading _People_.

The day goes by slowly; she only gets up to get another magazine. _People_ is a quick read, she wouldn't waste the the four dollars it cost if the guy at the stand didn't give her such an angry look when she lingered, so she ends up buying one or three more to pass the time.

She's waiting as patiently as she can--forcing herself to not glance at her watch every five seconds to check the time--but she can't stop her toe from tapping the ground anxiously,

-

_Five years ago was the last time she saw a familiar face, since she allowed herself to stay long enough to see someone twice, three times. Strangers are the closest she has to family, to anything. Meaningless glances that mean nothing to them mean the world to her, a reminder that she still exists. Sometimes it's enough, other times it isn't._

_That's how her life is; at times, she's become someone completely different then the girl from Odessa. Someone more than a ghost passing through the world but less than a human a part of society--she sees everything but changes nothing._

-

The sky's no longer blue, a melted orange glow painted across a canvas hanging over the quaint buildings in the center of town. She's on her third frappecino and second read-through of a newspaper. She still wears the glasses--it used to be a fear of being recognized by someone, someone she couldn't see but could see _her_; now it was simply an old habit.

She sees a man from the corner of her eye crossing the street in a rush. The owner calls from behind her. "Loomis--!"

"I know, I know." She doesn't look up as the man brushes past her, quickly getting inside. "I'm sorry, my alarm clock..."

The voices drifts away as boss and employee take their conversation to the back room, away from customers. She turns to page A12 to continue reading about a culprit who disappeared into thin air in London.

Ten minutes later, a hand motions to the mass of empty cups that decorate the surface in front of her. Suddenly, the employee named Loomis is standing next to her table, laughing genially. "You wouldn't happen to want another one would you, Miss?"

She looks up to see a face she knows; a face she's seen more than twice in her life. It isn't an accident or a surprise, she's at the shop on purpose, to see him, yet when their eyes meet it feels unexpected--overwhelming, a rush of emotions that nearly send her toppling over and out of her seat.

When she finally takes off her glasses, amber eyes revealed to be hiding behind the blue-tinted shades, his own widen momentarily and he swallows back her name before he dares to say it--a click in the silence that suddenly surrounds them. Like all the cars and people and bird and elements in the air around them decided to still, freezing in motion to allow this rare moment of two people dropping their masks, or being as close to dropping their masks as they could ever be, to come and go. It is rare and as beautiful as it is painful.

"Hey." His voice catches in his throat and the turn of her lips upwards is natural and welcomed. His hair is an unruly, dark mess, eyes covered by thick, square glasses and a beard hides his face, but he's still alive and he's standing in front of her.

"Hey, Loomis." Her stomach tightens when she sees that he's frozen where he stands, just a few inches from her--if she reaches out, her fingers will graze his hand. But she doesn't, letting him digest the situation. Several moments pass by and she sees him working it out in his head, trying to figure how to convince her to leave before they're spotted together--_two together are easier to find than two apart_--and fidgeting with the work apron he wore. Pocketing her glasses, she nods to the seat across from her, regaining some confidence in her voice. "Don't look so happy to see an old friend."

"Old friend, huh..." He looks to his left and to his right (he was never too good at being sly) before sitting down. "I guess...I--I dunno, I guess I'm shocked, Cl--I mean..."

"I know it's been a long time, Loomis, but..." she shrugged. "I'm still the Sheryl you knew back home."

"Sheryl," he breathes, nodding. He's still trying to work out everything in his head, but she simply remains seated, watching him worry--_he still worries_. "Hey, Sheryl."

She looks at him for the longest time before finally speaking. "Nice glasses."

It's about six and a half minutes before he finally realizes she isn't going anywhere without talking, and he manages to relax, but only a little. They're as comfortable as they can be. He gets on his break and she tells him her back still hurts from the long bus ride. They empathize with each other over the heat burning the back of their necks. He's Loomis and she's Sheryl; old friends from Billings, Montana.

"Drove through there in April." Her mouth twitches and she looks down at the table, thumb digging into the worn edge. Maybe someone the next day will notice it and think of the ghost that left her mark. She lets herself believe it.

"Still nice?" He acts like he has a memory of it; he's asking her to give him one.

"Not much keeping me there." _Or anywhere._ "How long have you...worked here?"

"Since April." His smile is sad; he's stopped moving and she doesn't know how. His smile is sad because she's still running and he lies to himself that he isn't. Their eyes meet and for a while all they do is look.

After a bit, he's back to working and she stays at her table, reading and waiting for him to finish his rounds and return. The sun's just about disappeared along the horizon, the place is nearly empty, so it doesn't take long. Standing beside the table and handing over her refill, he anxiously looks around again before sitting down himself. This time he motions to the sky and the streetlights turning on as he does so. "It's getting dark, you wouldn't wanna head off too late."

"Not like I'm afraid of the dark." It's a lie, but he'll never know; he isn't with her at night in bed, trying and failing to sleep, shaking as shadows creep along the walls, stalking her. She can't even remember the last time she's closed her eyes longer than it takes to blink away terrible images. It's not like it'll kill her. "Thought it'd be nice to see an old friend."

"Just driving along the California coast, thought you'd stop by and check in on old Loomis?" He shakes his head, looking into her eyes and begging her to go. _Before they find us._

She shrugs. "You think of people. Birthday's, holidays. Anniversaries."

He stiffens but doesn't look away. "That was yesterday."

-

_The blood soaked her shirt and caked her cheek, mixing with the tears streaking down cracked and torn skin taking forever to heal. It was a different kind of suffering--something she couldn't mend._

-

"Yeah, but you didn't work yesterday."

It's a simple answer, a simple reason; but she can see the sadness in his eyes. She can see him imagining her sitting alone in some hotel room, waiting for the next day to come so she could see him. She sees him wishing he'd seen her yesterday; sooner, better, on his day off so he could've taken her somewhere, so he could fight her and she could fight back, so they could be themselves.

The smile she wears is shaky at best. She was happy to see him before, more than she should've been, and now the feeling is creeping back up, the shadow of the monster that follows her around, city to city, hotel room to hotel room. It looms everywhere, leaving her unsteady and unsure. There's always someone around the corner, she imagines, waiting to jump out and take her away and make her disappear.

"How'd you find me?"

"The Alumni newsletter," she smiles.

He half-rolls his eyes. "What made you _decide /_i to find me?"

"Like I said--"

"Was it just that? It's alright if it was, but I have a feeling it isn't all about that."

"What, I can't want to see an old friend?" She shakes her head, biting on her lip for a moment. "Times sure have changed, I guess."

"We can't--" He looks over his shoulder. "You can't afford to come out here, _Sheryl_, you know that. I don't want you to...get into debt."

She gives him a look, trying not to laugh.

"Are you going to tell me why you came or what?"

_Because_--

"Why can't we just catch up and talk and just...not talk about serious stuff?" He's silent, not quick enough to answer, so she pushes harder. "Huh, Loomis? Why not?"

"You get to risk our safety by coming out here, I get to ask you the boring, serious questions," he whispers harshly, and a shiver runs up her spine.

"Okay," she nods, taking a breath. "I let a roll of a dice decide for me?"

"What...literally?"

"I _am_ old enough now--"

"You were in a casino?" His eyes widen and she can see the thoughts shooting through his head. _Security cameras. Someone could've seen you, marked you, they could be following you right now--_

All she does is smile and clarify. "No, it was some low-end bar...or a club, or something. It was my birthday, so I was...uh...celebrating."

His body loosens at her words, but not in a good way. When he speaks, his voice is heavy. "Twenty-one, huh?"

She pushes through the moment. "I don't even remember what we were playing but there was dice involved. This cool one they were using, it was--it was bright red and it had all these symbols on it. One was a peace sign."

She looks down and to the left to see a pigeon dropping to the ground to pick up scraps of someones croissant. A sigh escapes her lips. "It was just one of those moments where you realize how much your life sucks and you think of the last time you were even close to being happy. Funny how a stupid dice and a stupid peace sign gives me a fricking epiphany. It got me thinking, you know? About everything, everyone...you. I thought of how much I missed you, and how much I wished you were with me celebrating.

"So I dunno...I decided if I rolled the peace sign I'd find you. I'd do everything I could to find you and...I dunno, say hey." She laughs at how simple and _ridiculous_ it must sound to him. "And you know, as much as I wanted to, I was betting on that peace sign while in my mind thinking, 'never gonna happen.' And..."

"It did." He can barely get the words out.

"Yeah, it did. So...I came to see you, Peter."

"Loomis," he halfheartedly corrects her.

"No," she shakes her head. "I came to see Peter."

-

_He held her tightly, angry and scared. His dark eyes were red and dismal with tears and he was pushing her away. 'Go' is all he could say, over and over._

_It's what she still hears when she's alone. She's always alone._

-

"Guess I've lost too many brain cells, but I actually thought you'd be happy to see me."

"Things aren't any different then they were five years ago--"

"Except maybe our names," she can't help but point out, hoping to lighten the mood, but he doesn't crack a smile like he used to.

"I'm glad you're okay but..." He looks down at his hands and she swears she can see the emotion building up in his eyes, just before he forces it away. "You have to go, alright?"

"It might be easier, if we were in this together." Her hands are in her lap, shaking. She doesn't dare look away, hopes building up with each second that goes by and he doesn't say no. "It might work."

"You know it wouldn't." His eyes meet hers again and he looks determined to give her, again, the cold hard facts. He's hoping too, hoping she'll make this easier (for who?) and listen to him. "You're not a kid anymore, don't sit there and act like everything will be sunshine and flowers if we're together in all of this. We'll get caught and killed. Or worse."

"We can still be caught if we're apart, the only difference is that if that happens, we'll have to deal with it all alone." _I can lay out the cold, hard facts, too._ "Don't you ever get tired of this, of being alone?"

"Of course I do." He practically growls when he speaks, stopping himself and lowering his voice after making sure no one is looking over at them. "I get tired of being someone I'm not, I get tired of feeling like _this_, paranoid that everyone that so much as glances at me is some government agent getting ready to take me in and do God knows what to me. If you were around me, it wouldn't help; I'd spend every second worrying about you, worrying about someone hurting you--"

"I can't get hurt. Is there some kind of genetic chromosome missing from you that makes you forget that _nothing can hurt me_ or something? When will you learn that I don't need protection? All this worrying about me will kill you, Peter."

Silence follows as they both finish the thought: just like it killed...

-

_Five years and a day. Noah died instantly, no goodbye to his daughter; nothing. A gunshot and his pulse was gone, breathing stopped. By the time she got to him, hands desperately putting pressure on the wound, slipping in the blood, his eyes were open but he wasn't there, there was no life in him._

_It was quick and instant for him, but for the daughter he left behind...five years and a day and she still wakes up and sees blood on her hands._

-

He's called away to close up shop. She refuses his offer to clean up the mess on her table, doing it herself. She lingers a little ways away and when he clocks out and exits, waiting for him. He walks up to her, opening his mouth to say something, but she cuts him off. "Are you happy?"

He looks surprised at the question; like it's never crossed his mind before. Then he avoids her eyes, chagrined. "It doesn't matter if I'm happy, it's about staying alive."

"For what? What are you trying so hard to survive for? Usually when you run like this, when you're doing everything you can to stay alive, there's something you want to live for. If you're not happy then...what's keeping you alive?"

"Sheryl--"

"Don't call me that, we're not doing that anymore. You can stand here and lie to yourself about whatever you want, but not to me, okay? I'm here because I want to be here, I wanted to see you, I don't want to be alone in this. If I'm going to be running and fighting to stay alive, then I want a reason. And I do, I have one; I'm here, aren't I? I just wish Peter could be standing next to me instead of Loomis."

"You may not be able to die, but they can still do things to y--" His voice breaks, and he has to stop and clear his throat before going on. "I don't...I'm afraid of that happening to you."

"So you think if I'm not around, and you don't have to witness it, then it's easier to act like it won't happen?"

"Maybe," he spits back before biting down, firming his jaw so hard she can see it even through his beard. "I guess that makes me a coward."

"I guess it does." She doesn't blink as she speaks, which lets tears form in her eyes and she's too slow to wipe them away before one escapes, trailing down her cheek.

He touches her for the first time in five years, his hand resting on her arm to get her attention. He even tilts his head and for a split second she thinks Peter's back, and he'll say something that'll make this entire day seem like a success instead of a complete failure. But instead, he lays out his excuse. "Remember Niki and D.L.?"

It's funny how easy the government finds it is to lie; capturing and killing a man in front of his own wife and son using the false pretense of a crime he 'may' have committed, and then incarcerating and tearing mother and son apart. Micah's an experiment in a government building of some undisclosed location and Niki...no one knows what happened to her.

"We're not them."

He starts walking. "Close enough."

"You really are different, aren't you?"

He looks down to his feet, voice a ghost of a whisper. "I wish I wasn't."

She watches him watch his feet. "Me too..."

They stop walking when they arrive at his car. She wraps her arms around herself and forlornly attempts to joke. "This is the part where you invite me back to your place for some coffee, I think."

He actually laughs, but his smile is rueful at best. Their reflections in the car window stare back at them. "I hate how everything is different. I miss..."

No words come, and they stand next to each other for the longest time. His eyes meet hers in the reflection; even with his beard and unruly hair, he looks like a little boy, lost and looking for some kind of steady ground. His dark eyes look at her in amazement and she doesn't need to be a mind reader to know he's wondering how grown up she looks. Yet when leans to his side, his arm against hers, she blushes at the contact and feels sixteen again.

He pulls her away from the car, away from the street, and into a side alley a few feet away. In the shadows where the streetlight can't reach them, where no one can see them, he hugs her so tightly she's sure he's gonna break something. She doesn't care if he does; she even _wants_ him to. She'll heal herself within seconds and maybe the feeling of him holding on, not wanting to let go, will do away with the terrible weight that's settled in the pit of her stomach, refusing to ever go away.

"Maybe," she breathes. Her tears stain the collar of his shirt, soaking through and wetting his warm skin. Her hands hold onto him tighter; he's warm and familiar and she _knows_ him.

"No." She can hear the tears in his own voice. She can hear him wishing it _is_ a maybe. "They'll always find us."

-

_It was more than a goodbye kiss but less than...something. Less than the kind of kiss that would lead to something later on in the day. There was no later on for them._

_It made her forget that she still had a little of her father's blood on her hands and on the shirt that was burning in the furnace just a few feet away. It made her forget that he was dead, gone, never coming back. Their lips touched and she forgot that she was never going to see Peter again, either._

_It was both enough and not enough; it helped push away everything but when they tore apart, she didn't want to; she didn't want to step away, turn around, and get on the bus. And even when she did, when he made her, she knew._

_She'd never be able to say goodbye._


End file.
